


And So He Fell, Silently Again

by templecat



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Federal Agent Castiel, Fluff, Gen, Hate at First Sight, Humor, M/M, Romance, Witness Protection AU, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-14
Updated: 2013-10-14
Packaged: 2017-12-29 10:53:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1004554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/templecat/pseuds/templecat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I have been assigned-“</p><p>“To protect me, not tell me how to live my life.” With a swift sound Dean pulled up his jeans and Castiel turned around to see him zip his fly with more force than necessary. He eyed Castiel with none of the teasing smirk he’d been wearing only moments before. He took a step towards him and pressed a finger hard into his chest. “Look, Agent Bradbury. I get that this is your job, but you’re not my family or my girlfriend or my friend and you don’t get a say in what I do or do not do.”</p><p>Agent Castiel has been assigned protection detail on a certain Dean Winchester. And as insufferable and annoying as he can be, there's something about him that Cas just can't shake...</p><p>Hate at first sight AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And So He Fell, Silently Again

 

 

Castiel looked over to where the other man was rifling through a wardrobe and yet again cursed the day he’d met Dean Winchester.

“What d’ya think? Blue or green?” Dean held up two shirts, both different patterns of plaid. He was stood in front of his full length bedroom mirror (which he normally kept perfectly hidden on the inside door of the wardrobe, thank you very much) and held up each shirt against his chest in turn. He didn’t spare a glance for Castiel who stood scowling next to him.

“I think it doesn’t matter which shirt you wear, so long as I accompany you.”

Dean threw a smirk over his shoulder and purred “Oh aren’t we a clingy one?”

Castiel glared at him which only made his grin widen. He made a conscious effort to unclench his fist and drew in a steadying breath; something he’d been doing a lot these past few days. “I have been assigned your case in order to protect you, which I cannot do if I am not _with_ you.”

Dean rolled his eyes, abandoning the shirts to sort through pants. “It’s one little mob boss, I’ll be fine.”

“ _Dean_ ,” Castiel pressed, enunciating his words slowly and clearly as though speaking to a particularly intelligent gerbil. “You are going to testify against senior members of the biggest criminal organisation in the state. _They will try to stop you._ ”

“Yeah? Daniel Matthews tried to stop me riding the bus to school, just because he was two years older than me and I hadn’t grown into my feet yet, and I handled him just fine. He needed fourteen stitches _and_ a sling.” He nodded, eyebrow raised as if to say ‘Impressive, huh?’

Castiel rubbed his temples. The worst part was he couldn’t tell if Dean was joking or if he really thought a school bully was the same level of dangerous as a criminal gang. No one could be that pig-headed, could they? Castiel watched as Dean ran a comb through his hair, happily humming what sounded like ‘Hey Jude’ under his breath and reconsidered.

“You have a target on your back Dean.”

“Then I’m definitely changing my shirt.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know, it’s cute.”

Castiel actually growled in frustration. “Why can’t you just admit you need my protection?”

Dean frowned, rubbing at his freshly shaven cheek. “Maybe I do, but way I see it if I start living my life too scared to leave the house without a personal, government-trained shadow, then the mobsters have already won.”

“How philosophical of you.”

Dean shrugged. “I’m testifying because I want those bastards behind bars and I’m putting up with you because I want to be able to do that. But no amount of vest wearing thugs are going to stop me going to a bar and getting laid tonight. Which I can’t do if you’re following me around like a kicked puppy.”

“You won’t be testifying or getting laid if you’re dead.”

“Not without some very questionable morals at least.”

Castiel blew out an exasperated sigh. “Can you take anything seriously?” Dean laughed and this only irritated Castiel further. “You are by far the most stubborn witness I have ever had the misfortune to protect.”

Dean smiled like that was a compliment, which for all Castiel could fathom, to him it might’ve been. He certainly turned back to the wardrobe with a bounce in his hips. Dean picked up a pair of dark jeans and said “Turn round, I blush easily.” When Castiel didn’t immediately comply he added “I promise I won’t make a run for it while your back is turned.”

“I’d like to see you try” Castiel muttered but he turned around so Dean could change. He folded his arms and his shoulder harness dug into his ribs. “There is no way I am going to allow you to go to that bar without me.”

Behind him he heard Dean pause in getting changed, the rustle of denim against skin ceasing as he replied, playfulness gone replaced by warning. “’Allow me’? Who gives you the right to ‘allow me’ to do anything?”

“I have been assigned-“

“To protect me, not tell me how to live my life.” With a swift sound Dean pulled up his jeans and Castiel turned around to see him zip his fly with more force than necessary. He eyed Castiel with none of the teasing smirk he’d been wearing only moments before. He took a step towards him and pressed a finger hard into his chest. “Look, Agent Bradbury. I get that this is your job, but you’re not my family or my girlfriend or my friend and you don’t get a say in what I do or do not do.”

Castiel resisted rocking back from the sharp force Dean was exerting against his sternum. He stared up at him, taking in the way the muscles in his shoulders bunched up with tension and his eyes darkened as he stared back. Slowly Castiel brought up a hand and pushed lightly on Deans chest. Dean immediately leaned back, putting distance between them. He slowly lowered his own hand from Castiels chest as if only just realising it was there. He let out a harsh breath and dropped his gaze to the floor.

Castiel broke the tense silence. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cause offence. I merely wanted to stress how real the danger is that you have found yourself in. I don’t want to see you get hurt on my watch when I could have done something to prevent it.”

Dean ran a hand through his newly combed hair, causing it stick up on one side. “I know man, I get it, I do. It’s just I’ve already got Sammy and Bobby telling me I’m an idiot for going through with this and trying to wrap me in bubble wrap. It’s driving me nuts doing an impersonation of a freaking china doll. I just really need a night out.”

“You can still have a night out, I just need to come with you.”

Dean looked Castiel up and down, eyes lingering on the tan coat he insisted on wearing even though they were indoors. Castiel shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, resisting the urge to try and flatten the creases in his shirt. Dean raised an eyebrow and some of the playfulness returned to his voice as he said “No offence, but you’re a cockblock if I’ve ever seen one.”

Castiel held back an indignant splutter and replaced it with glare. “I am not a cockblock.”

“Hey don’t sweat it, not everyone is blessed with the good looks and charm I have.” Dean paused thoughtfully, squinting at Castiel’s poorly tied tie. “Although a change in wardrobe might help you out in the looks department. Some chicks really dig the dark-haired brooding thing you have going.”

“You,” Castiel forced out, “are insufferable.”

“You just don’t like me because I’m right.”

“I don’t like you because you are rude, stubborn and think you’re God’s gift to mankind.”

“And you have a stick so far up your ass I could put you on a barbeque but you don’t hear me complaining.”

“Yes I do. Constantly.”

“Mostly about your flasher-coat though, so that’s justified. Tell you what, you leave the trenchcoat at home and you can come to the bar with me.”

Castiel clutched at the coat protectively. “I need it to cover up my shoulder holster.”

Dean caught him the lie immediately, a triumphant glint in his eye. “No you don’t, your suit jacket does that. You just have a thing for pervy coats.”

“It is not pervy.”

“Come on Cas, I’m trying to work with you here. You ever heard of compromise?”

“Don’t call me Cas.” He snapped back reflexly. He paused to consider the man before him, actually looking sincere in his offer of compromise. The weight of the coat hung heavy on his shoulders for a long minute before he sighed and began pulling it off. The smile Dean gave him was wicked and Castiel had to remind himself that it would be very unprofessional to punch a witness.

“Now we’ve got you at least semi-presentable- “ _Don’t punch the witness, don’t punch the witness_ “- I might stand a chance of scoring tonight. Maybe some of my charm will spill over and you could end up lucky too. You could do with loosening up a bit.”

Castiel was sure he was going to need dental work by the end of this case, he was grinding his teeth so hard. “Maybe some of my tact will spill over and you could end up keeping your nose straight.”

“You’re only proving my point here.” When Castiel opened his eyes again after clenching them shut in exasperation Dean had picked up the two shirts he’d been eyeing earlier. He held them up and asked again “You never told me which you preferred, blue or green?”

Castiel glared silently until he realised Dean actually wanted an answer. He looked over the dark plaid before eventually pointing to the one in Deans left hand. “Blue.”

“Green it is.” He tossed the blue one onto the bed and began stripping off his t shirt.

Castiel dropped his head into his hands, muttering murderous thoughts. Dean Winchester was going to be the death of him, he just knew it.

 

* * *

 

 

Dean watched as Castiel scraped his thumbnail along the label of his beer, frowning at it as if it was the cause of all his problems. It had taken more of Deans carefully crafted form of persuasion (a subtle mix of complaining, teasing, flirting and guilt-tripping) to convince Castiel to have a single beer even though he was on the clock. But as Dean pointed out, he was on the clock all day every day and there was no way he was getting through the night with an entirely sober Cas. A little alcohol might loosen him up enough that Dean could actually tolerate his pompous omnipresence.

Dean frowned at the strange federal agent and rubbed his temple. Why did he have the severe misfortune to not only witness something that could get him killed but then get stuck with the federal governments biggest dick as a bodyguard? Since laying eyes on the stoic man four days ago everything between them had been a constant struggle. The man seemed to live to contradict every word out of his mouth, smothering Dean in stubborn contrariness. Something as simple as going grocery shopping became a personal attack on his choice of cereal (‘ _Fruit Loops, seriously? I didn’t realise I was protecting a third grader.’ )_ or the way he packed the bags (‘ _If you packed with any level of forethought you’d only need half the carrier bags you know.’_ ). When Dean had snapped back that Fruit Loops were, and always would be, the breakfast of kings and that he couldn’t give two flying fucks about how many carrier bags he used Castiel had had the audacity to look hurt and Dean had to resist the urge to shake him violently. A full four days of acerbic criticism and sarcastic comments, which Dean countered with relentless teasing and stubborn disregard for anything he said, had left a strong feeling of animosity between the two of them. He resented having the agent stuck to his shoe and he knew Castiel shared similar feelings towards being stuck there.

But Dean was never one to let a little thing like mutual antipathy ruin a night out so took another swig of beer and tried to make conversation. Again. “You ever been here before?”

Castiel looked up from his beer and shook his head. He glanced around the room, gaze flitting everywhere, taking in the scene before him with an alert, practiced eye. Dean had already clocked him noting the exits when they had first walked in. The agent had insisted they take a booth in the corner, his back against the wall so he could see the whole bar with a small turn of his head. He looked back to Dean, having apparently seen nothing of importance. “I don’t frequent this end of town often. But it seems nice enough.”

Dean smiled and said proudly “Yeah it is. Ellen, who owns this place, is an old family friend. The Roadhouse does the best burgers in the state.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure.”

Deans smile vanished and he slammed his beer back onto the table. “Why do you have to do that? You don’t know shit about these burgers. For all you know they could be the best damn burgers you’ve ever tasted but you’d never find out because you’re too busy being a cynical asshole.”

“Everyone says their burger or coffee or pizza is the best in the state. They can’t all be right.”

“But you don’t have to be a dick about it man. One of them has to be right. How hard would it be for you to keep your sarcastic mouth shut long enough to give people a chance?”

Castiel opened his mouth to reply then closed it again, swallowing. He had the decency to look contrite and held up his hands in a placating gesture before leaning back in his seat. “Maybe I can be a bit on the cynical side.”

Deans eyebrows shot up in surprise. He hadn’t expected to him to actually admit it. He let out a satisfied huff of air and his annoyance deflated. “Be cynical all you want, just don’t shove it down the throats of us happy folk.”

A small smile actually tugged at the corner of Castiel’s lips and it warmed Dean to see it. “I’ll bear that in mind.”

Dean rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously, unnerved by Castiel’s intense stare, but quite pleased that he seemed to have gotten through to him, even a little bit. That little smirk was the first he’d seen in four days and Dean vowed to make sure it wasn’t a one-time thing. Eventually, he broke the gaze when he realised he was staring at Castiel’s lips. Dean coughed and twisted around in his seat, slinging his arms wide along the top of the booth to support himself. He surveyed the other patrons in the busy bar for a moment and said “So, spot anyone you want to try your spectacular charm on?”

Castiels brow furrowed and he swallowed his gulp of beer with an effort. “I’m sorry?”

“The women in the bar.” Dean turned his head to look at Castiel. “Is there anyone you like? Personally there’s a hot redhead by the jukebox with an AC/DC keyring on her purse who I would love to buy a drink for.”

Castiel shifted uncomfortably and turned to sweep the bar. He caught sight of the woman Dean was referring to, and although he had to admit she was indeed very attractive, “She’s not really my type.”

“What, redhead?”

“Female.”

Dean paused at that. The tips of Castiel’s ears were quickly turning pink but the defiant expression on his face was more than enough to negate it. His back was stiffened in a purely defensive posture and Dean hated the way it look so reflexive. It was clear he thought Dean would have something to say about his sexuality.

Dean frowned, nodded once, then turned back to the bar without a word.

Castiel huffed out a sigh and thumped his head against the wall behind him. He closed his eyes. Just when they had made a tiny step forward in this tempestuous relationship... the anger rose up in him like bile and he spat “So you’re not even going to speak to me now?”

“I’m a dude, I don’t multitask. And there’s more guys here than women so it’s takes longer.”

“What takes longer?”

Dean turned back to look him, a particularly impressive _‘duh’_ stamped across his features. “The _Sweep_. I’ve spotted a few hot guys but I can’t tell whether they just seem hot in comparison to the beardy truckers. Man, I didn’t realise there were so many Bobby’s here.”

The anger blew out of Castiel like a burst balloon. “Oh.” He scowled. “You could have just said that. Instead of making me think...”

“That I’m a homophobic douche?”

“Oh I know you’re a douche. The homophobic part is the bit I was uncertain of.”

Dean threw a beer mat at him for the douche comment and enjoyed it immensely when Castiel laughed as he swatted it away. He kept his smile to himself. “Seriously though, I need to get laid tonight and that means you need to hook up too, or you’ll just follow me around like a homeless puppy.” He couldn’t hold back the grin when Castiel cranked his bitchface up to eleven.  He was pretty sure the beer bottle was going to break under the force of Castiels grip as he resisted the urge to smack Dean in the nose. “So, back to my original question: Anyone here catch your eye?”

After a few steadying breaths, Castiel realised that life would be more peaceful if he just went with it. He gave Dean one last scathing look before performing his own sweep. A moment later, he offered tentatively  “I guess that guy at the end of the bar is alright.”

“Which guy?” Dean squinted, following the line of Castiel’s pointing finger. A tall man with sharp, attractive features stood at the bar, waiting to order a drink. He was dressed casually, in dark jeans and a slightly rumpled button-down. As Dean watched, he ran a long-fingered hand through his fair hair, pulling at the soft curls that just brushed the back of his neck. Dean blew out a quiet whistle and gave Castiel an approving nod. “Go get him Tiger.”

Castiel looked startled. “What, right now?”

“Yes, right now. I’m going to talk to Miss Classic Rock and you are going to buy a drink for Mr Hair Model before he can order one himself.” Dean watched as the highly-strung federal agent unravelled before him, becoming hot and flustered and uncertain. Castiel pulled self-consciously at his tie and kept looking between Dean and the man at the bar. Dean didn’t know whether to laugh or be concerned. “You have done this before?”

“Done what?”

“Chatted someone up in a bar?”

Castiel’s blush deepened and he suddenly became very interested in the beer he was now holding with both hands. “This is not very familiar to me, no.”

“Oh.” Dean deflated a bit and frowned. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. He didn’t want to pressure the guy. “Have you ever...”

Castiel looked up sharply. “Have I ever what?”

“Had a one night stand.”

“Yes.” He paused. His voice was tense and he spoke stallingly as though unsure how much he should share with this man he barely knew. “But I’m usually more drunk. And in a club. Not in a brightly lit bar full of people. Not where you have to hold much of a conversation.”

“Oh thank God.” At Castiel’s bewildered expression Dean elaborated. “Then it’s a confidence issue, not a moral one. I can work with that.”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “I’m so happy for you.”

“No, I’m serious. You just don’t know how to talk to people you’re attracted to. Everyone has that problem and the only way to solve it is to just dive right in.” Dean leaned forward across the table between them. He rested a hand over Castiels on the beer bottle he was rolling between his palms, stilling it. Castiel looked up to see Dean smiling encouragingly at him. He had never seen Dean this close-up before and sucked in a breath as Dean licked his lips before continuing. “You’re a good-looking guy Cas. Enough that your face will get you past any hiccups in your words. Just act friendly, interested and buy the guy a drink. You can do this shit.”

Castiel gulped. He could feel the warmth of Deans hand over his. Castiel’s lips had gone very dry and he resisted the urge to lick them like Dean had moments before. When he found his voice it came out hoarser than he’d meant it to. “Don’t call me ‘Cas’.”

Dean laughed and fell back into his seat, removing his hand from Castiel’s with a gentle brush. “You never give a guy a break, do you?”

Castiel felt his ears warming again. “I like my full name.”

Dean chuckled. “Well, go tell it to the guy at the bar.”

“Right. Right, just be confident. You can do this.” Castiel shot Dean a dirty look as if daring him to laugh at his little pep-talk. Dean held up his hands and nodded his head towards the bar, winking. Castiel rolled his eyes again and snatched the bottle from the table. He downed the last of his beer in one long go. Then, with a determined look (and an encouraging thumbs up from Dean) he headed purposefully to the bar.

Dean sat for a moment. He didn’t even check to see if Castiel had actually gone through with it. Instead he thought about the way Castiels mouth had looked around the lip of that bottle, his Adams apple moving rhythmically up and down his throat. He thought of the way Castiel’s blue eyes stared so intensely, as if drinking in Deans features from across the table.

But most of all he thought about the way Castiel had almost whispered those words into Deans mouth. ‘ _Don’t call me Cas._ ’ How Dean had had to lean away from him, to cover up the shiver it sent sweeping between his shoulder blades. How he’d had to take his hand away from those long fingers, hot despite the cold bottle.

Well.

Fuck.

Dean let out a long sigh and gripped the bridge of his nose. Of all the fucking people to be attracted to, he had to pick the one who was stubborn, and rude, and only here because it was their job. Oh yeah, and who was a freaking _dude_. Dean knew he’d always appreciated hotness, regardless of gender. And he was comfortable enough with himself to not bat an eye at being hit on by a guy (which had happened more than once, and which he had always responded to with a polite ‘I’m flattered but...). And yeah, he would admit that he was harbouring a pretty serious man-crush on Dr Sexy, M.D.

But stop right there. Dean shook his head. Now was not the time to get all introspective. In Deans mind, there was never a time to get introspective but sitting in a bar about to try and pick up a woman was definitely not it. Mimicking Castiel, he drained his beer in one fell swoop and stood up. He spotted the redheaded woman, put on his most charming smile, and started running through his favourite pick-up lines.

He couldn’t resist one quick glance towards the end of the bar. Castiel stood with his back to Dean, leaning onto the counter next to the curly-haired man. The man was leaning into Castiels personal space, and smiling at something Castiel was saying. Two beers sat in front of them, untouched.

Dean sniffed and looked away. Maybe he should follow his own advice more often.

Stop. No introspection. With a quick shake of his shoulders, Dean went to find the redheaded woman and ask her some questions about AC/DC.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is by no means an accurate representation of how a witness might be protected, even if they're not in hiding. Call it artistic license, but really I just wanted all the other characters in play (which will come in later).   
> Also, I'm British so although I try write Dean as pretty colloquial, I don't know how much translates to American English. If it doesn't make sense, call me out on it.   
> This is a WIP so feedback is much appreciated and taken on board as I write, so go wild with the constructive comments :)


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